


long way down

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Date Night, Introspection, M/M, Mild smut lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: “Hey,” he murmurs into Dan’s neck, “let’s go on a date today.”Or, date night in Leeds. Phil would say he planned it, but he really didn't.





	long way down

**Author's Note:**

> heyhey i've been having difficulty writing lately (in other words: lazy) ((in more accurate words: writers block)) so i thought i'd dip back into the reality pond for a bit to clear my head. towards the end, you might feel like dan's feelings are unfairly portrayed. you could be right, but i'm writing as how i see it. and how i imagine the dilemmas they face in terms of closeting (or lack thereof) in the year of our lord 2k18. 
> 
> unbeta-d so my bad english is to blame for the mistakes.
> 
> enjoy!

> _The truth is rarely pure and never simple. - Oscar Wilde_

 

There’s a beat when Phil wakes up and doesn’t quite know where he is. 

It’s disorienting to go from city to city, travel kilometres across coasts and borders, and feel as if home base is now a Toyota Sienna instead of the comfort of a nice bed and Skyrim. That’s a worldwide tour for you, Phil thinks as he adjusts to new scenery, taking in the sights of a bit past Plymouth now. Halfway to wherever the fuck they’re heading next. 

 _Leeds_ , his brain supplies immediately, too neurotic to _not_ know. (That’s Dan’s job.)

“‘re we there yet?” a sleepy voice to his left mumbles, head lifting from the pink neck pillow and nose scrunching lightly. There’s a while more for the Sun to rise, peeking out from the clouds a bit, and the light paints a strip down Dan’s nose, illuminating his freckles and permanent dry lips. Home base right now is a van and Marianne and their driver — but his _home_ is somehow a million miles away and right next to him. All at once.

“Some ways to go,” Marianne replies, shifting in her seat. “And before you ask, we’ll probably stop in Starbucks at some point but there’s a can of Nescafé in the boot if you can manage it.”

“Marianne,” Dan proclaims, as he’s looting through their piles of Too Much Crap in the back, “you are— as said through a certain pervert once ago— the _light of my life, fire in my loins_. My world would turn into complete darkness without you.”

Phil snorts. “All she did was bribe you with coffee.”

Dan tuts, turning back to Phil with a dented tin in hand. “ _Ah._ But that is more than what the _actual_ love of my life has done for me this morning, is it not?”

Phil’s heart warms more than he will ever admit to and he turns away before Dan catches the blush across his cheeks. It’s shaping up to be a nice morning, Phil thinks, watching early risers start their days, making quick steps on the pavement. Must be nice having uncomplicated desk jobs, 9 to 5 before heading home to kids and a spouse and pets. No public scrutiny or even public _speaking_. Must be nice, Phil thinks wistfully.

“Heya, nerd. Good morning,” Dan says softly with a small smile— the one he reserves just for Phil.

“Hi, babe,” Phil exhales, looping an arm around his waist and letting Dan snuggle into the crook of his neck. “Good sleep?” 

“Didn’t have your big giraffe limbs smothering me half to death, which was a nice change,” he narrowly avoids the swat in his direction, “so maybe live in this car with me for the rest of our lives?” Dan flutters his eyelashes teasingly, doing his _kawaii_ eyes (in other words: _s-s-s-senpai?)_

Phil laughs, “Is that the plan now? Thought we were eyeing that house in Primrose but it’s whatever you want, _dear_.”

“Dick,” Dan says, playfully shoving him away. “Marianne, how much longer till I can escape and rejoin my secret husband Antoine off the coast of Italy with his two corgis and stable WiFi?”

“Anytime after September is golden, _dear_ ,” she replies drily from the front seat, idly scrolling through her Instagram feed with a pointy (glittery) fingernail. 

Oh, Phil thinks, _after September._

Ominous post-tour life that would consist largely of 1) _not touring_ , 2) _videos??,_ 3) _other stuff?????_ that he hasn’t really broached mentally yet — too wired from planning life out up until that point. 

(He thinks of villagers somewhere between Plymouth and Leeds, people outside his window with actual _plans_ — do they know where they’ll be in five months, five years? Is the future as scary for them, too?)

Dan’s prattling on, probably talking about islands off the coast of Italy, and _do they have good WiFi?,_ and Phil shakily inhales a breath as something akin to panic settles deep in his stomach. 

“Phil?” Dan asks. “Y’alright, mate? Looking especially vampire-y this morning,” Dan jokes, but the concern is etched in his furrowed brows, his keen look. “Not still upset about Antoine, are you? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came with, if only to dog-sit and steal all his Crunchy Nut.”

Phil laughs easily, settling into banter with Dan as quickly as he fell in love with him in the first place. “Why settle at that? I’ll steal his money, too.”

Marianne interjects, “Well, they don’t call you £apital Le$ter for nothing, innit? Yes, I am saying it with money signs, you deserve it."

Dan’s laugh is loud and bellowing and it powers the remaining half of their journey; them gradually waking up with the Sun.

 

-

 

“You’re ok, then?”

They’re in the arena now, waiting for their meet and greet and subsequent LIVE GRANDIOSE STAGE SHOW — it’s been a few years of this but what is Phil’s life, honestly? — to begin but a crowd’s roaring outside already. From what he can see from the tiny crevice between the curtain and window, there’s a line of fans, and the occasional dad, with posters and merchandise and just. A lot of love to give. 

 _This_ is the best part of the job, Phil thinks.

“Hm?” Phil asks, distracted.

There’s a palm running up and down the line of his back, and warmth radiating from the body behind him. “You were being weird this morning in the car, Lester. You had that _face._ What’s up?”

Phil swivels around to face him. “What face?”

“That constipated, anxious Dan- _please_ -don’t-bogey-that-hole face. Well, guess what, Phil, I’ll even bogey _your mum,_ ” Dan replies ridiculously and it brings a laugh and a grin on Phil’s face. 

Eventually, though, he shrugs. “Wasn’t anything, don’t worry.”

“When you say don’t worry to your resident Worrier…” Dan sighs, hauling him into a fierce hug. They don’t hug all too often, saving them for after important life-altering conversations like: _“You want to tour again,_ too _??”_ and _“Dominos has a new flavour??”_ (Hey, they never admitted to being posh boys, mind you.) But when they do, it’s always nice.

They stand there for awhile, relishing in the other’s company and surrounding silence in their waiting room, familiar before-show nerves calm for a moment. There’s a certain contentment in being in your partner’s arms, Phil realises, as sappy as that may be. The safety and comfort in knowing that whatever it is that might happen — falling on stage, or ripping your trousers, or an emotional parent shouting at you in displeasure — you’ll have them, in every inconceivable way.

“Hey,” he murmurs into Dan’s neck, “let’s go on a date today.”

“Date?” Dan says, incredulous. “Dunno if you’ve forgotten but we have a job to do today. In ten minutes, actually.”

“Hasn’t stopped us before,” Phil replies cheekily, pulling away and searching Dan’s face for the hint of nostalgia — Central park date and pizza date and Starbucks museum date. And fooling around at midnight after drinks in clandestine American bars. All dates, as many as they could have, the best way to unwind from what was the most stressful and relentless period of their lives.

Now, they’re a bit older, more into themselves and shielded behind a lot less pretence, and it’s like — why _not_ sneak away for a bit?

Dan answers for him, arching an eyebrow: “Marianne will throw a _fit_.” 

“What she won’t know won’t hurt her, hun,” Phil says, channeling his inner Real Housewife. “‘sides, we’re only leaving for Birmingham tomorrow, aren’t we? Got _looaaadds_ of time.” He adds in pouty lips and shiny eyes and he’s got a winner, for sure.

“Fine! Fine.” Dan says, exasperated. “But if she’s out for our arses tomorrow, I’m pinning this on you, sista.”

 

-

 

The show goes well. They almost slip twice, divulge too many incriminating things about their relationship (their average per show has been five confessions so far) and even manage to scarf down complimentary mini burgers during the interval.

The roar of the crowd is thundering, soundtrack to their rapid heartbeats and their smiling faces like validation that what they’re doing is worth it. Phil wasn’t always sure, is the thing. Touring once took a toll on them, spending hours and hours pouring over the same script, perfecting the same song and dance routine — _left foot, Phil! —_ was harder than they ever let on at the time. Harder than they imagined, really.

So, second time round, he braced himself for the same commitment. 

Now, though, he sees why the idea was scary to begin with. There’s a certain kind of ambivalence that lies in a career on the Internet. Ambivalence in terms of response, he means. Displeasure is shown through the number of dislikes you get on a video, for example, or a nasty comment underneath. Phil isn’t one to dwell on negativity, especially since every insult is flanked by three really nice comments. It’s impossible for Phil to be _discouraged_ when the ratio is in his favour. 

On stage, the blissful ignorance is stripped off. 

Standing in front of a thousand people, it is impossible sometimes to _not_ focus in on the one frowning face, the one person that doesn’t laugh at your jokes and seems largely unimpressed by your creation. It is _very_ easy, almost ridiculously so, to feel like you’ve let the collective down if a person who paid a hundred pounds for their ticket leaves not feeling like the show was worth that amount. Not worth a penny, at all. 

His friends tell him, not everyone will like it, Phil. That’s life. But goddamn if he won’t put in 110 percent into every performance to make sure they all fucking _do._ To make sure they’ve properly earned their fans’ money and support throughout the years.

Smiling faces are what keeps him going, always. (That, and adrenaline. And blowjobs, probably.) 

They sidestep off stage and behind the scenes is always a frenzy after the show ends. Crew members hurriedly remove props and Marianne ushers them back to the dressing room while their set is being taken down and packed up. They’ve offered to help a few times but the crew had given Phil a pitying look like _what if you break something?_ Phil couldn’t promise to keep his uncoordinated limbs in check, hence, dressing room it is.

They work off some excess energy by shamelessly snogging on the sofa. The door’s not locked and anyone could walk in, which is part of the reason Phil’s feeling hot under his shirt collar. The other part, of course, is one Daniel Howell pressing insistent kisses to the base of his neck.

“Ah,” Phil gasps. “Dan, Dan, stop, let’s save it for tonight.”

“Why _yyyy_?” Dan whines petulantly, pulling away. “What’s tonight?”

“For after I wine and dine you, _pal_.” Phil hadn’t forgotten, of course. He hasn’t _planned_ much, but he’s buzzing in excitement anyway. 

Dan snorts, righting himself on the cushion beside Phil. “Oh, that’s still happening, is it?” He looks as smug as he can be with the bulge in his pants.

“Yes. I have Big Plans,” he lies.

The Plan: “At 2115 hours, I will tell Marianne that I need badly to wee. You will make a joke about my small bladder. Two minutes later, you will pretend to get a call on your cell and leave the room. Then, we can escape to Costa Rica together and live amongst the monkeys in the forest. Where we belong.”

Dan’s still caught up counting what 2115 hours is in regular time.

Eventually, Dan gives up, throwing his arms in the air. “ _Bodyguards_ , you turd. Remember them? Burly men who can sucker punch you in the nuts and you won’t be able to have my babies.” 

Phil scoffs. “Please, I could totally knock Jim out.”

Dan laughs again, cheeks denting in. “Oh, I’d pay _big_ money to see that happen, Philly. I see things worst than infertility on your horizon.”

They’re quiet for a few moments. 

“So, we’ll tell the others, then?” Phil says finally, and Dan cackles all the way to their hotel room.

 

-

 

Fairly anticlimactically, Phil dozes off pretty quickly when they get into their king sized bed that night that he almost forgets about taking Dan out.

Dan’s taking one of his regular (too bloody long) baths, and Phil can smell the strong scent of whichever bath bomb from his spot on the bed. Mmm, bed. Sleep. Comfy, he thinks, as he closes his eyes for a bit. A brief nap, he tells himself — to regain sexual energy and woo Dan, of course. _Of_ _course_. 

He’s shaken awake after what feels like two minutes. 

“Phil!” Dan says. “I’m pretty sure 2115 hours isn’t bloody eleven pm. C’mon, sleepyhead, I’m _ready_.”

Phil has half the mind to flop back on his side and return to his dream (that curiously involved Thor with Mjölnir, and Sam the surfer dude hovering over him, if anyone’s wondering). But it’s _Dan,_ and that makes _all_ the difference. He’d do anything for him, to make him happy. 

“What are you in the mood for, baby?” he asks in a sweet tone when he belatedly realises his Big Plans started and ended with sneaking out of their hotel room. Too often, Phil just doesn’t _think_ , jesus.

Dan snorts like he’d expected as much. He usually plans their excursions out, anyway. And unlike Phil, Dan’s really smart. “Lucky for you, I spotted an ice cream shop along this street on our way over here. Are you feeling _vanilla_ today?”

“Always do, but you’re sweet enough, darling.”

Dan mock-vomits on the road. “ _Blergh_. Sap. Also, who says I put out on a first date?”

Phil reaches out and intertwines their fingers. “It’s been nine years, think I can persuade you otherwise?” 

Dan sneaks a look at their hands and blushes warmly. They’re notoriously PDA-shy most of the time, but it’s half eleven and they’re in bloody Leeds. In other words: they really don’t give a shit. Not anymore. 

Dan pulls him along the pavement with a laugh. “We’ll see, Lester, we’ll see.”

 

-

 

“Do I want two scoops of this, or strawberry and key lime. Oh, and chocolate. Wait — they have cookie dough?”

The elderly lady manning the counter looks _tortured._ Phil thinks, is it bad _date_ etiquette to tell your significant other to hurry the fuck up? Phil’s about to off him himself. “ _Dan._ ”

“But Phil, chocolate will screw my sleep schedule later, right?” Ok, this could go on _forever_ if Dan’s contemplating the physiological impact of an ice cream flavour now. “—because I read on Wikipedia once,”

Phil interrupts swiftly. “Sorry, mam, we’ll have a double scoop of mint chocolate chip, single scoop of cookie dough, thanks. Oh, and two hot chocolates.”

Dan jabs him in the ribs. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Phil winces. “I probably knew your order before _you_ knew your order. We spend too much time with each other.”

“Actually, ’s not like we’re _legally_ obligated to spend time with each other. I could still dump you, y’know,” Dan comments, taking their order when it comes up. 

“Not yet,” Phil reminds, smiling widely. The marriage topic has been discussed a bit over the years—wedding fan art cooed over, random online ring browsing after lunch — but nothing concrete. Phil’s unconsciously filed it away for _after tour,_ but he did that after their first tour, too. It’s not like they’re getting any younger, his mum chides him now, and at some point he’s going to have to bite the bullet and commit contractually. 

Not that it matters, a part of him says. He’s devoted to Dan as long as he shall live. No priest has to confirm that for him. 

Even so, he’d like to follow the usual procedure of things: marriage, big house, kids. He’s traditional that way, he thinks, and he’s his _Mother’s_ son after all.  

They settle in and take bites of their ice cream. He asks, after awhile. “Y’ve thought about it then? The “future”?” Air quotes necessary because that period of time doesn’t feel quite real yet. And if before, in the car, the thought filled him with dread, now he feels relatively calm looking into Dan’s face. His easy shrug. 

“Dunno. It’s just. We haven’t really _planned_ for that bit yet, haven’t we?” 

Dan worries. Random thoughts cross his mind at a hundred metres per second but he likes to play them off nonchalant and jokey, not anxious and completely bricking it. Phil knows his nervous ticks, though, and Dan doesn’t seem particularly on edge. It puts Phil at ease a bit more.

“No, no, we haven’t.”

There’s a lull of silence.

“Well, we _have_ , in a way,” Dan says. “Holding hands in the middle of a random street, that was a prelude, wasn’t it? To what we could have some day.”

He says it quietly and Phil’s heart breaks.

“We could have it any day, you know that. It’s not like I don’t _want_ to hold your hand but that’s not _us_ , is it? We’re not big declarations. We’re subtle things like me knowing your ice cream order by heart and scooting closer to you in gaming videos. That’s us, Dan. We don’t need to be caught up in big ‘coming out’ bullshit to prove something to ourselves.”

There’s a rant that’s been bubbling up inside him for a long time. 

“Y’know what, I bet we could even mention offhand that we were engaged and people wouldn’t even blink. The subtlety is what makes us _obvious_ , Dan. Sure, I would hold your hands a million times but I won’t let you _belittle_ all that we’ve — _I’ve_ been working towards these past years.”

It’s harder for Phil. Dan does big gestures, says he likes sucking dick, and takes it back just as easily. It bothers Phil because it feels sometimes that _his_ progress isn’t enough. Like he needs to be even _more_ blatantly homoerotic just to erase the walls they built up circa 2012. 

“Phil.”

Phil looks up. 

“You’re right. I know you are. I just, sometimes, _ridiculously_ , I feel like I owe them the _truth_ , or as much semblance of it as I can handle. I feel like I need to shout it from the rooftops how much I love you so that eventually, they can’t call me a liar. I don’t owe them anything. But— I don’t want them to _hate_ me.”

Phil takes his hand. “They’ll never hate you, Dan. We’re in a good place. We’re opening up, and the reception has been great, has it not? Did you _see_ those faces in the audience just now? I’d like to think they respect us as creators and individuals, regardless of who we love.” 

It’s not as simple, Phil thinks, but it will suffice.

“I love you, Phil,” Dan exhales. “You make the hard times worth it.”

“Good,” he taps his fingers across Dan’s knuckles. “Now better eat up before your ice cream melts. Also, something I was thinking about earlier, why are seahorses called that if their bodies aren’t at all horse-like? Weird. David Attenborough should get on that.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“Regular day in the neighbourhood, it would seem,” Phil replies.

 

-

 

“Good date?” Phil asks, swinging their hands as they’re walking back. He tries to mentally remember to sneak a handhold tomorrow when they’re doing their meet and greet. His bit of reassurance.

“Ice cream was great, but the company was….meh,” Dan retorts, smiling cheekily.

“Love you,” Phil says honestly, echo of words said all the years before. “so much.”

“Hmmm. Well. Ok. Still not going to put out, though.”

Phil laughs, too loud for midnight in a British city. “I have the rest of my life to persuade you otherwise, so hey, whatever you say, _dear_.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think?? idk i hope the feel of the fic largely came through. 
> 
> twitter & tumblr @phanetixs, my friends! catch you later :)


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